Chapter four: beneath and Surface

Noah told herself it was nothing.

Just a moment. A lapse in judgment. A side effect of too many late nights and shared glances.

But lies are only convincing when you want to believe them.

And the truth was, she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Everywhere she went, Nick was there. In the kitchen, smirking over coffee. In the hallway, brushing past her with that maddening, careless swagger. He haunted the house like some dark thought she couldn’t shake.

What was worse? He didn’t seem shaken by it at all. He just… carried on. Same cocky grin. Same devil-may-care energy. But behind his eyes, there was something different now. Something that hadn’t been there before.

That night, sleep wouldn’t come. Her room, no matter how massive and expensive, felt like a box. A cage. So she slipped out quietly, barefoot, hoodie zipped, and padded her way to the garage.

She wasn’t even sure why she went there. Maybe because it was the only place that still felt grounded. Real.

The garage was dimly lit, the old radio crackling some lazy indie song. The air was thick with engine grease and leather polish. And there he was—shirtless, bent under the hood of his Mustang, forearms streaked with oil, jaw clenched in concentration.

Noah froze for a second. Not because he looked good—though, God help her, he did—but because this felt like intruding. Like she was stepping into his real world.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, he tossed her a beer without a word. She caught it easily and dropped onto the workbench stool beside him.

“You always fix things this late?” she asked, cracking open the can.

He smirked, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Only when I don’t feel like breaking stuff.”

She sipped. “Is that your therapy?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Better than drinking alone.”

They were quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that’s not empty—just full of everything unsaid.

Then Nick spoke again, voice low. “You scared?”

She glanced at him. “Of what?”

He wiped his hands on a rag and looked at her like he could see straight through the walls she’d spent years building. “Of what’s happening between us.”

She didn’t answer.

Because yes. She was.

And because no. She wasn’t sure she wanted to stop it.

“What scares you more?” he asked. “That it happened… or that you want it to happen again?”

The words sank into her chest like a stone in deep water.

“You think I want that?” she asked, softer now.

He took a step closer, barely a breath between them. “I know you do. And I do too.”

And before she could argue, before she could rationalize or run or pretend—he kissed her again.

This kiss wasn’t like the first. It wasn’t hesitant or testing. It was hungry. Heavy. The kind of kiss that makes your knees forget how to stand.

Her hands curled into his bare shoulders, his arm wrapped around her waist like he was anchoring her in place. There was no logic left. Just fire. Just heat.

But then—footsteps.

They froze.

Nick yanked back, grabbed the rag, turned the music up just enough. Noah swallowed hard, heart racing as a maid passed by the hallway, oblivious.

She didn’t say a word as she slipped out.

But she didn’t have to.

Because now they both knew—

This wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t curiosity.

It was real.

And it was going to wreck them.

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